


Gloves Off

by foreverdistracted



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Community: hobbit_kink, Established Relationship, Fights, Gay Bar, Humor, M/M, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverdistracted/pseuds/foreverdistracted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all fun and games until someone lays a finger on Richard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gloves Off

**Author's Note:**

> **TW: sexual harassment in a public setting**
> 
> Fill for [this bar trouble prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=7499475#t7499475) in the kink meme. Crossing my fingers and hoping OP liked this. A hundred clones of Richard decked in black leather for my amazing proofreader. All remaining mistakes are my fault.

"It was part of my Gisborne costume, actually." Richard's hands smoothed down the front of his leather-clad thighs. "I'm surprised it still fits."

Bless Richard and his definition of "fits." Graham had a perfect view of his rear and the way the leather stretched across his arse, bunched a little below it in tight little seams, and then went on to wrap around his muscled thighs in an indecent, form-fitting hug.

"Yeah," Graham said, with a wide, shit-eating smile that he was thankful Richard wasn't angled to see. "Fits just fine." 

He took a moment to admire the well-defined (very _bare_ ) back and broad shoulders while Richard fiddled with the low-hanging belt again. It had probably been black once, but the unremarkable material had got so scratched and faded these past few years that it had turned into a boring, uneven shade of brown. The only reason Graham hadn't strongly urged his lover to do away with it was the fond, nostalgic look in his eyes as he kept turning the frayed thing around on his hips.

It was _really_ close to falling apart, though. If that belt could talk, it would be wheezing out a death scene right now. "Belt's a goner, lad," he said, with a sympathetic smile. His timing was impeccable, as the belt chose that moment to unsnap with a metallic clatter and hang limply from the belt loops. "Sorry."

Richard was stubborn enough to execute a last second jury rig attempt. When the thing just outright refused to be a belt anymore, he breathed out a sigh and coiled the whole length around his hand. "It's going to feel weird without this belt. My Replay one's back in my flat, though."

Graham stood. He took the belt's remains from Richard's hand while planting a brief kiss on a bare shoulder. "I have something better. Don't move."

"Better" was two circuits of fine silver chains that hung high through one belt loop on one end, and sort of just lounged on anything that would keep them up on the other - in this case, Richard's wide hips and shapely rump. Graham's gamble paid off. They were framing _everything_ right. 

Richard didn't seem receptive at first - he kept lifting the other ends of the chains so that they would rest high on his waist instead of conforming to every single shift his pelvis made. Graham put a halt to the fidgeting by slipping his arms around him from behind. "Stop it. They're _supposed_ to hang like that. Here..." 

A bit of manoeuvring had them both facing Graham's full length mirror in the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the slight flush on Richard's neck. He took hold of the lowest ends of the two chains, lifted them, and let them fall naturally. One landed close to Richard's hipbone. The second longer one fell on the widest curve of his hips, right above his thigh.

He watched Richard's expression in the mirror and was gratified to see him looking somewhat more receptive now. "I suppose it _does_ work." He sighed and leaned back against Graham, his head tilting to rest against a strong shoulder. "So where's this top you wouldn't shut up about on the way here?"

"I'm not sure I want you to wear it just yet," Graham muttered against Richard's slanted ear. His hand slipped lower on one hip, but before it could even manage to graze anything important, Richard had a strong grip on his wrist and was pushing it away.

"Don't you dare! These trousers are tight enough as it is." He stepped away from Graham's arms, blue eyes narrowed with a fond, exasperated look. "We need to finish dressing now or we're going to be late."

Graham conceded with his hands raised in surrender. He left the room and reappeared a minute later with two more items of clothing, as well as a small bag that contained his own outfit for the evening. 

"I've never worn anything like this before," Richard said five minutes later. The slight blush on his neck never quite left, but thankfully didn't grow more prominent either while he was putting everything on. The tight, long-sleeved fishnet top with a fine mesh looked positively sinful on its own (it was backless - a lovely reversed tear-drop shape giving an unhindered view of Richard's skin), but paired with a short, open blazer that ended two inches shy of the leather trousers' beltline gave it a semblance of decency. As it was, the blazer just gave teasing glimpses of the tight shirt, which, in turn, only gave teasing glimpses of Richard's flawless skin underneath. From afar, it was easy enough to overlook as some sort of edgy throwback fashion on a fit forty-something year old man. There was no denying what that shirt was up close, though.

They briefly debated his going with or without the jacket, and agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry where Ian was concerned. Graham's own outfit was just as form-fitting, but half-sleeved and sporting quite a few spikes, leather straps, and smatterings of D rings that were more for fashion than function. He felt eyes on him while he was putting it on and doing up every single buckle. A quick glance while he was tightening the lacing at his sides revealed Richard looking at him before he could turn his gaze away. He chuckled under his breath when that slight flush turned darker. 

After his left collared glove was locked properly, he straightened and finished off the whole ensemble with a dumpy, weather-worn brown coat that reached below his knees. 

"Shall we?" Graham asked. 

Richard smiled and grabbed the keys from the mantle. "If you're right about this, Ian's going to kill you."

He shrugged. "Worth it to spare us both a night of embarrassment."

 

When Adam had idly mentioned during a conversation about local hangouts that he'd never set foot in a gay bar before (and received a cacophony of similar lack of experiences from some of the young ones...and from Richard), Ian had insisted on bringing the group to one that he knew. It was more for Adam's benefit than anyone else's. However, his description of the place immediately made Graham suspicious - especially the required dress code. Ian ended the conversation with specific instructions to "dress appropriately," or they wouldn't be let in, reservation or no.

Graham vaguely knew the area by reputation and had his doubts, so he wore something a little more conservative than what he normally would in such a setting - modest enough not to be seen as inappropriate, but naughty enough with a few adjustments, if need be. He'd been quick to let Richard know of his suspicions, and Richard was glad enough to let him supervise his wardrobe for the evening.

They had needed to stop and ask for directions a few times (the place _was_ rather hidden, which made him wonder if he'd made the right decision), but once they arrived, he felt a little vindicated. Near the entrance, they found Ian chatting amiably with a portly old man while normal-looking chaps dressed in casual or semi-formal wear went in and out through the door beside them. Ian himself was wearing a simple cream shirt, dark trousers, and a long scarf wrapped around his neck.

Ian took one look at the pair of them and gave Graham a disgusted glare. "Who told? Was it Hugo?"

Graham grinned. Ian looked genuinely annoyed. "No one told. We're just old enough to know when you're up to something."

"Look at this!" Ian continued, one arm making a swooping, irate gesture at Richard's clothes. "What a travesty. Richard, you've shown far more skin at the gym."

"I've shown far more skin than that on television, actually," Richard politely said, stepping up to stand beside Graham with a rueful smile. "Hello, Sir Ian."

"Yes, yes. Ruin my fun, why don't you." He waved them both towards the entrance. "Go on, then, our table's at the window facing the street."

He needn't have bothered with instructions. Their table was easy to spot, on account of the two poor lads, Dean and Aidan, having fallen victim to Ian's misdirection. They looked like they went into a BDSM shop, tripped over everything made of leather, and got thoroughly victimized by its whole sales department. 

Meanwhile, off to one side, Adam was sitting rather primly in a plain red jumper and dark grey trousers. 

Graham hadn't meant for his laughter to be so loud, but he honestly didn't have enough willpower to suppress it. Poor bastards. Even Richard was sporting a wide, gleeful grin beside him. 

" _Coat!_ " Aidan yelled. Before they'd even reached the table, Graham was immediately confronted with a pair of large, brown, begging eyes. "Graham, please, let me borrow it!"

"He's cold," Dean helpfully supplied from his seat. He gestured grandly at the leathered monstrosity that he was wearing. "I'm just embarrassed."

"I'm cold _and_ embarrassed!" Aidan insisted, his arms folded against his mostly-bare chest and making the wide-linked chains strapped across his pectorals rattle. "I've been cold since we left the shop -"

"Why don't you two go back and change?" Richard asked.

Aidan lowered his voice to a frightened whisper. "He won't let us leave!"

Graham didn't really have much of a chance against the pair of cute, pleading brown eyes and the pathetic shivering. He sighed, handed over his coat, and rolled his eyes at the delighted hollering from Dean's end once his outfit underneath was brought to light.

"Aha!" Dean smugly exclaimed. "Not as clued in as we first thought!"

"We were playing it safe," Richard commented. He took a seat beside Graham and leaned across the table. "Adam, did you know...?"

"Ian told me," Adam said, with an embarrassed grin. "He made me promise not to tell the rest of you, though. Sorry. I didn't really want to, either. Laughed myself silly when I first saw these two."

"What happened to you, Adam?" Aidan gave a mournful shake of his head. "You used to be so nice."

Dean patted his shoulder in mock-comfort. "He grew up, Aid. Doesn't love us anymore. Goes for knighted, sophisticated men these days."

"Bastards," Adam said, with a laugh and a playful push at Dean's shoulder.

A moment later, Ian's voice rang clear from behind their table. "I see that we're all here now," he said, as he moved around to seat himself beside Adam. His gaze fell on the new owner of Graham's shapeless brown coat and the table fell silent.

"Graham," he gravely said, holding two fingers up in a threatening manner. "That is strike _two_."

Graham held his hands up. "There won't be a third." 

As sedate as the bar was, they weren't getting _that_ many stares. He felt Richard lean closer. "Cold?"

"You're warming me up just fine," Graham replied, with a chuckle under his breath and a quick squeeze of Richard's thigh under the table. The low laughter was his only response. Richard drew back, and when before he would have brushed Graham's hand off with a pointed look, for whatever reason, he left it resting on his thigh today. 

Conversation flowed around the table, once again centred on work (Ian had shot down any remaining grumbling from Aidan and Dean by claiming that they were blaming their mistakes on their elders and that it was no fault of his if they were unable to interpret simple instructions). The noise level within the bar rose as the night grew darker, and the clientele became far more varied. The small space meant as a dance floor was commandeered by a group of rowdy youngsters (about Aidan's age, Graham guessed) who were holding some sort of drinking game. 

A source of occasional delight was the periodical arrival of complimentary drinks, courtesy of various young (and some not so young) men who kept throwing them appreciative glances. Ian was happy enough to keep track of who got the glass and made sure everyone got his fair share, regardless of whether or not the drink was meant for him specifically. He seemed to have made a prior arrangement with the bartender so that whenever a server came over with a drink meant for someone at their table, they would speak _only_ to Ian first, who withheld knowledge of who got which drinks and how many from the rest of the group. 

"I bet we'd receive more if Aidan took that coat off," he said, as the fourth one arrived an hour later. 

"Never," Aidan said, and clutched the coat tighter.

It was an arrangement Graham appreciated. He cast a brief glance at Adam, who appeared outwardly calm, but was nursing his drink with a nervous tapping of his forefinger. From what he'd gathered from their previous conversations, the younger man had reservations about...well, a lot of things, and it wouldn't do to have his first night out with friends in a gay bar spent comparing drinks and correlating attractiveness to it. Especially with _this_ lot, who often got shamelessly competitive. 

Though on a more personal note, he was also ill-at-ease with the thought of Richard receiving drinks from anyone else - especially dressed like that, in a room nearly full of similarly-oriented gentlemen.

When the seventh drink arrived, Ian took a bit longer before handing the drink over to Richard (who took a testing sniff of the contents before pushing it towards Graham). He leaned over a bit and lowered his voice so it didn't carry from their table. "Adam," he said, a gentle smile on his face, "go over to that table at the far wall, near the abstract painting, and thank that nice young man for the beer."

Adam's eyes grew comically wide. "What?" he asked, sounding panicked. "Why me? We haven't gone over to talk to anyone else 'til now."

"First, the drink was for you. Second, he's the first one who's sent over a drink who doesn't look like a jobless layabout, and I'm _determined_ that tonight shall be memorable for you." He patted Adam's hand, but that only seemed to make the younger man more nervous. "Don't agree to anything without consulting us first. Now, off you go."

Ian moved, making room for Adam to leave the table. Adam made an aborted attempt to get up. "I...I don't really know what to say."

"Well, don't say that we're all Graham's bitches. Even if it seems that way." Ian leaned his hand on his seat's backrest and gave Graham a wistful half-smile. "I could have done so much good with an outfit like that back in 1969."

Graham grinned smugly at him from across the table. Beside him, Richard said to Adam, "If you want an ice breaker, I'd start with the story behind Dean's wardrobe."

"Yeah, mate!" Dean enthusiastically said. "Not like I have any self respect left or anything."

Adam left their table like a skittish colt, and approached the other table in much the same way. Graham kept his gaze averted even though he was itching to look over and make sure the younger man was all right. "Things going well over there?" he asked Ian after a few minutes had passed. He and Aidan were the only two people at a comfortable angle to see what was going on at the far table.

"Yes, mother," Ian said, with an amused laugh. "They're still talking and they both look comfortable, so obviously it's going very badly." He tapped his finger on the table, right in front of Richard, who had been looking intently at the bar and straightened in his seat at the sudden sound. "Richard, you haven't kept a single drink I've given you. Are you well?"

"Yes. Sorry," he gave a brief laugh. "I'm more of a wine person."

"And you call yourself a Dwarf. If you're heading to the bar, fetch me a Hennessy, will you?"

 

Dean, as it turned out, was both a happy drunk and a lightweight. One minute, he was laughing and trying to tug the coat's lapel away from Aidan (and nearly got kicked for it - Aidan had a death grip on the thing and wasn't messing around), the next, he was out cold and snoring loudly on Graham's shoulder. Richard had bemoaned his own unfair lack of inebriation, and had stood to finally fetch himself and Ian a few shots from the bar.

"This entire place _reeks_ of smoke and alcohol," Graham said off-hand to the older actor, who was helping him gently settle Dean in a more comfortable position on the table. As much as Graham was willing to lend a shoulder, he drew the line at drooling. From the corner of his eye, he could see Aidan fetching his phone from his back pocket and aiming the camera at his snoozing costar. "I'm surprised everyone's so well-behaved, considering."

He heard Adam's voice pipe up from somewhere behind him. "I wouldn't say well-behaved..."

"Why are you here? Where's your young man?!" Ian exclaimed, with a deeply-peeved look. He made shooing motions at Adam. "Go back there and fornicate."

Graham didn't know Adam could turn that particular shade of pink. "He stepped out. Had to take a call." Biting his lower lip did little to hide his shy smile. "He's quite nice, actually. Lives in Welly, writes for a living -"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ian interrupted, sounding mournful. "He looked perfectly respectable from afar. Come sit here, we'll find you someone else-"

"You just don't stop, do you?" Aidan said with a hint of marvel.

The older actor straightened in his seat and proudly declared, in a voice Graham had heard him use a few times on stage: "I'll stop when I'm dead. And just for that, I'm going to outlive you." He turned back to Adam and said, "Now, what was it you were saying earlier?"

"Well..." The way Adam's eyes caught Graham's for a split second clued him in that this could be more serious than he first thought - Adam looked bothered in a way that set him on edge. "I was coming out of the loo, and there were two large blokes there who got a little, um..." his voice gradually grew smaller on the last word: "Handsy."

A loaded hush fell at their table. There was nothing remotely playful about Ian's frown this time. "Do you see them around now?" the older man asked, calm but sharp. "If you can point them out to me, I'll have a word with the owner."

Adam spent a handful of seconds surveying their surroundings. Eventually, he shook his head. "...No. No, maybe they left." 

"As soon as you spot them..." Graham said, with a hint of warning.

Adam nodded. "Yeah, I will."

Since the young man outside was taking his sweet time with his phone, Adam returned to his seat beside Ian and was immediately grilled on the details of his conversation and what he planned to do next. Despite the teasing at his expense, there was a repressed giddiness to the way he fielded off Aidan's and Ian's questions. Graham couldn't quite help the smile on his face. This nameless young man had better be worth it, though.

The empty seat beside his was starting to feel cold. He looked around for his wayward partner, frowning when he didn't find him at first sweep. Richard was often easy to spot, usually a head taller than most, and in his current outfit, he should have been sticking out like a sore thumb among the more colourful customers.

When he did finally locate him, the sight caused a deep frown to settle on Graham's face. Richard was standing beside the far corner of the bar, two drinks in hand, and blocking his way was a man a few inches taller and several inches _bulkier_ than him. Their stances didn't seem overtly alarming, and Richard's expression appeared calm and neutral enough. He wondered at his own tenseness, and decided to chalk it up to Adam's ominous encounter from earlier.

Then the man stepped forward, invading Richard's personal space, and Graham let out a low, unhappy sound.

"Adam," he heard Ian tentatively say, "I think Graham just found your two men."

"Oh," Adam's voice said, accompanied by the scraping of chairs, probably as he turned to look, " _oh_ , no. Yes, that was one of them. Should we..." 

The taller man said something, his hands making gestures Graham didn't quite see. The smile on Richard's face froze. Graham's grip on the table hardened.

"That's not good. Should we maybe go and help him?" Adam said, and Graham could almost hear him fidgeting nervously.

There was a hesitant pause before Ian answered, "Richard can take care of a rude brute." Richard said something - a clear dismissal, judging from his body language, and tried to circumvent the man blocking his way. _Another_ man, however (and Graham would bet his left leg that this was the second of the pair Adam had mentioned earlier - much shorter than the first, but less rough around the edges and emanating pure smugness) stood from a nearby table and prevented his escape. "Assuming, of course, that he chooses to. The lot of you, stay out of trouble. I'll have a word with the owner."

Aidan muttered, "C'mon, Rich. Just deck 'em."

Graham didn't really hear anything else after that. The small gap between the two men consumed his whole focus. One of the two pillocks had a finger hooked on Richard's belt chain - the shorter loop - and was following its line all the way across the front of Richard's trousers. There was nothing brief or casual about the touch - he had no doubt that that one fucking finger was brushing against things it shouldn't be within twenty feet of.

His anger was white hot and his eyes honed in on the two bastards so completely it felt like tunnel vision. He didn't remember standing, crossing the room, or tapping the shorter man on his shoulder - but days later, he'd still be able to clearly visualize the way the man turned, slowly, as if he'd just been inconvenienced by the most unworthy of men, and barely got a lazy "Yah?" out before Graham's fist established a quick but satisfying connection with the bridge of his nose.

The man collapsed, whinging in high-pitched tones and clutching his face. Graham didn't have time to savour the clean KO, because the larger man was upon him in an instant. Pain exploded above his right eye and under his rib. He thrust his hand out in a blind grab - not fishnet or leather. Good. He threw his body into another punch and grinned as it resulted in a satisfying, bone-cracking sound.

Blood was pouring across his right eye. The pain in his side was _debilitating_ , and he found himself braced with one knee on the floor, trying to get his bearings. There was a lot of shouting, only some of which he could make out - Adam's "You stay away from McT!" and Aidan's more straightforward "C'mere, you twat!" He saw bits of leather and silver chains in front of him, and heard Richard's alarmed voice asking him if he was all right while trying to haul him up and away from the fray. He wasn't sure, but the fight seemed to have escalated to include the drinking game crowd and the group of middle-aged bikers from across the room. There were a _lot_ of beer mugs being turned into impromptu projectiles. 

Graham stood on shaky feet and shrugged off Richard's grip, sweat and blood dripping from his chin. Richard was calling his name, but he ignored him. He glared around the room, searching until he spotted it - a man crawling on the ground, though all he could see of him was a pair of trouser legs ending in shiny Russian Calf shoes. Cowardly wanker. With a low growl, he grabbed the moving ankles and hauled them closer, taking those extra few seconds to get the man back on his feet before crashing down on his forehead with a well-aimed headbutt, followed by a liver punch that was sure to incapacitate him for days. 

"Oh, fuck it," he heard Richard say, and turned in time to see him deliver an impressive right hook on a man who was about to crash a stool against Aidan's back.

 

It was 1 a.m. They made for a sorry sight, waiting out there in the street. Graham was seated on the hood of Ian's car, keeping a wet towel pressed against his right eye. Aidan had just got back from buying some gauze and topical meds, face a little bruised (Peter was _not_ going to be happy), while Richard was carefully checking Graham's ribs for any cracked bones. Graham envied Dean his blissful sleep in the backseat. 

The door to the bar closed. Ian walked towards them, his expression grim. 

"How'd it go in there?" Graham asked, when Ian was near enough.

"Well, we're not banned." From his pockets, he withdrew a few pieces of paper which he distributed to each of them. Dean's, he just tucked into Aidan's coat. "We're paying for the damages, of course. The owner's an old friend who promised to keep his mouth shut, but the bartender mentioned seeing a few cell phones being flashed around during the fight, so expect this to be in the papers tomorrow." He fixed Graham with a pointed frown. "If something like that happens again, you let the _house_ handle it," he said. A pause, as he waited for Graham's slow nod. Then he smiled. "That having been said, that was a bloody good first punch."

"I know," Graham said, with a toothy grin. A sharp, slicing ache at his side had him doubling over. " _Shit!_ "

"Sorry," Richard muttered. Louder, he asked, "Where's Adam?"

Ian's smile widened. "Night isn't quite done for that one. Apparently, his young gentleman was quite impressed with the bravery he showed earlier and wanted to go someplace else." At Graham's pointed look, he added, "I have their contact information, so I wouldn't worry."

Graham nodded his thanks. With some assistance from Richard, he stood up from Ian's car, glad he hadn't left a trace of blood on the polished surface. That would have been strike three, he imagined...maybe four, but Ian didn't seem all that upset that he'd got them tossed out of the bar he liked. There was a good chance that Peter would cancel tomorrow - they could get away with some cuts and bruises, but prosthetics wouldn't be able to cover the long cut on Aidan's lip, or the angry, raised welt on Richard's cheek. 

Ian offered to drive Dean and Aidan home. Graham and Richard waved their thanks and farewell. The walk to their car was just a block away, but it felt annoyingly long right now, with the throbbing in his sides and his sprained ankle.

"Did you see Adam?" Graham asked ten seconds into the silence, with a bark of laughter. "I never would have thought he could hit like that." He turned his head to see Richard's expression, but his partner's face was carefully neutral. Much like the expression he'd worn at the bar, before all the fighting started.

"What?" he cautiously asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Richard said, with an unconvincing smile. "We're almost at the car."

Graham frowned. "You're looking at me like I did something."

"You did just start a bar fight..."

"Like I did something _wrong._ "

Richard said nothing else. The silence stretched. Graham could feel his frustration building, making his tone sharp. "Richard, someone touches you like that in front of me, _they're going to get punched_." 

"I know," Richard began, and Graham wanted to interrupt him because he wasn't quite sure he _did_. "But I was handling it, wasn't I? You -" he bit back what he was about to say. After a quick, calming breath, he said, "You know how I feel about brawling."

Graham did, though he was ashamed to admit it hadn't even entered his thoughts the entire night. They'd spent a few intimate conversations talking about childhood experiences, and how rowdy boys got, and how Richard - always being the taller, bigger youth - had often been expected and required by his peers to champion them or suffer a few blows during petty arguments. 

He'd experienced similar situations growing up, of course - most tall people did. But Graham learned how to work a group early on, and had friends who made sure he was never on his own whenever things got serious. From what he could glean from Richard's recollections, Richard's support hadn't been quite as sincere or involved.

"Sorry," he muttered, and _meant_ it, even though every aching bone in his body was protesting the apology. That one simple word seemed to lighten Richard's mood already. He couldn't resist continuing, though: "But those two pissants weren't about to settle things through conversation."

"We don't know that," Richard argued, and breathed out a small laugh a few seconds later. "Besides, Mana Davis showed me this move that...well. Let's just say it involves placing the other person's 'wedding tackle' in a compromising position. If things had gone further south, I would have practiced it on the shorter bloke."

Graham almost wanted to say that if things had gone any further south, the pricks wouldn't have got away with just a few punches. Instead, he laughed and said, "I didn't mean to ruin your moment."

"If I want help, I'll ask for it." Richard's eyes were intent on his face, his gaze searching. Graham bore its intensity head on. "All right?"

He nodded, serious and conceding. "All right."

It took a few seconds, but Richard seemed satisfied with his reply. They resumed walking (or limping, in his case). "You have a few broken ribs, by the way," Richard informed him, with far more gaiety than Graham thought appropriate. "We'll have to swing by the hospital. This one."

Graham hissed through gritted teeth. " _Ow._ "

"And this one here."

" _Jesus fuck-!_ " He wheezed and clutched an arm protectively around his middle. "Just wait 'til we get home."


End file.
